row valley lying between them, stands the crowning castle of La
Lippe, the strongest fortress in Portugal. Far beyond, but plainly
seen through the clear atmosphere of the peninsula, now doubly
transparent since it has been purified by the heavy rains which here
usher in the winter, rises the blue mountain of Albuquerque, far away
in Spanish Estremadura. Whichever way you look, Sierras, nearer or
more distant, tower above the horizon, or fringe its utmost verge.

Among these scenes of nature's handiwork, a production of human art
demands your attention. See, on your right, the beginning of the
ancient aqueduct, reared by Moorish hands, which leads the pure
mountain stream for three miles across the valley to the city seated
on the hill. Here, the masonry is but a foot or two above the ground;
below, the road will lead you under its three tiers of arches, with
the water gliding an hundred feet above your head.

But here comes a native of this region to enliven, if not adorn, the
landscape. This lean, swarthy young fellow, under his _sombrero_ with
ample brim, exhibits a fair specimen of the peasants of Alemtejo. His
sheep-skin jacket hangs loosely from his shoulders, and between his
nether garment and his clumsy shoes, he displays the greater part of a
pair of sinewy legs, which would be brown, were they not so well
powdered with the slate dust of the rocky road he travels. With a long
goad he urges on the panting beasts, yoked to the rudest of all
vehicles--the bullock cart of Portugal. Its low wheels, made of solid
wooden blocks, are fastened to the axle-tree, which turns with them,
and at every step squeaks out complaining notes under the burden of a
cask of the muddy and little prized wine of the province, which is
seeking a market at Elvas.

The carter is now overtaken by a peasant girl, who, with basket on her
arm, has been gathering chesnuts and _bolotas_ in the wood. They are
no strangers to each other, and she exchanges her brisk, elastic step,
for a pace better suited to that of the toiling oxen. The beauty of
this dusky belle consists of a smiling mouth, bright black eyes, and
youth and health. Though fond of gaudy colors, she is not over
dressed. A light handkerchief rather binds her raven hair than covers
her head. Her bright blue petticoat, scanty in length, and her
orange-colored spencer, open in front, both well worn, and showing
here and there a rent, but half conceal the graces of her form, and a
pai